


Thorns Of Hatred

by iDiru



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Amputation, Anal, Dark!Dean, Destiel as main pairing, F/F, Fantasy, Gen, Graphic Violence, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Oral, Sastiel - Freeform, Suicide, Suicide Attempts, Torture, Vomit, Wincestiel - Freeform, Wing Fucking, Wing Kink, f/f - Freeform, implied wincest, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:49:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iDiru/pseuds/iDiru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two fantastical species, one comprised of good and the other born from hatred, and comprised of sin. The concept of love was what drove them apart, but perhaps it is love that can end their senseless war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hell Hath No Fury

**Author's Note:**

> This is more or less a prologue. I'm not sure if it's as strong as I intended it to be but bear with me.  
> Stay tuned for artwork

                Long ago there was man, there was beast, there was monster, and there were the Ascha . A peaceful, winged race of creatures practiced and talented in the art of the arcane. Pure as the driven snow, created not through intercourse but will and magic. Their species thriving with the mother of all of them; Athana. They were all that was good, until they were introduced to the concept of love. It was, at the time, considered sin. The thought of coveting with one of their own was forbidden. It was Serana, who was born defective. It was something that had never happened in their society; an Ascha coming out wrong. It was unsure of the exact cause of her defectiveness, but Serana fell head over heels for Athana; their mother. They were not supposed to fall in love. They were supposed to exist in peace, with no chance of heartache or no feelings of adoration. They had no reason to love, as they had no reason to procreate with each other.

 

                This foreign concept of love was what sent Serana on the path to destruction. Athana’s rejection filled her with such rage she had to be cast down from their home. As she plummeted to the realm of man, hatred grew within her and tainted her very soul. It caused powers to stir within her that should have never existed in the first place. The ground she walked upon died with each step, turning to burnt ash beneath her feet. For a brief moment, her hatred turned to despair, wishing herself dead. She stood in place, allowing the ground to burn beneath her, where she would sink into the Earth and die. Yet, she did not die.

 

                She sunk into the Earth, and warped everything around her into her own Hell. A literal underworld; tendrils of darkness and hate reaching out from her soul and tainting everything in their reach. The dirt turning stone, and hollowing out around her like a cavern, before defying the laws of reality itself. Beneath the ground was a completely separate realm; one with sky and Earth, yet nothing like what was above. Once she had created her own realm, where the ground no longer turned to ash in her wake, her powers only grew. With nothing to take her rage out on, she secluded herself in her lonely realm and stayed alone for what seemed like eons. Her body became warped , turning to something that was the embodiment of her rage.

 

                With her now warped body, the darkness within her only grew until it became a physical manifestation, and from this was born the Siatris; a new species similar to the Ascha, but in other ways far different. Like Athana, she birthed many children to call her own, but there was nothing pure about them. Born from hate and anger, they were the embodiment of sin. Filled with malice, they took joy from the act of torture, murder, and sex. Here, love was not a foreign concept, but there was no love within the hearts of these damned creatures, only lust.

 

                Serana’s underworld became a train wreck of everything wrong in the world. An incestuous carnival of lust and sin, where brothers and sisters, or rather all of those born from Serana, would fuck in public without a care in the world. They would rise to the realm of men, capturing what they wanted and dragging them down into their world, where they would torture them, murder them, and sometimes eat them alive. They fed on the flesh of the living, and even sometimes themselves when times became tough.

 

It wasn’t long before they moved further away in the genetic line from their true ancestors, the Ascha. Because they were born from hatred, they were filled with malice from the day of their birth. A malice that only grew until it became what they were; physical manifestations, becoming yet another Siatris. Then there were the actual births; the beasts born of incestuous unions, most of which were born too deformed to live and were promptly eaten by their parents. There were very few actual children that survived to adulthood, because generally, they had no desire to raise a child. It was either abandoned or killed for the sake of killing.

 

                Despite the fact that most of them were born with hatred in their hearts, not all of the Siatris were inherently evil. Nearly all of them were bad, and not entirely nice, but some of them didn’t enjoy killing and torture quite as much as the rest. Some of them still had humanity, and perhaps there was still a way to save them…That was Athana’s thought, anyway. It’s what she had attempted, the minute they realized that the Siatris was at their door. Their society grew until their underworld was practically crawling with these vicious creatures, and Serana decided it was time to take revenge. She lead her forces to the Ascha city, attacked them directly. They were driven back, but they never stopped.

 

                Athana held hope for some time, trying to find a way to cure their malice, but each more of her children fell to the Siatris, and that was when a war truly began. A war against good and evil, with unlimited power on both sides, but none of them were truly winning the battle. There was nothing Athana could do; no terms she could set, because the only thing Serana wanted was Athana’s death, and the death of all like her. Her bitterness had tainted her mind with darkness, and there was no good left in her. It was a senseless war that no one would win, and Athana was sick of watching all of her children die. Unlike Serana, she actually cared for the fallen.

 

                At the end of her rope, and weak from the constant battle, Athana had one final plan. When the land of the Ascha was calm for the time being, not being ravaged by the Siatris, Athana would create another of her children. Not a warrior, but something different. Perhaps something that could finally end this senseless war. She came to the highest point of the city, where the presence of magic was the strongest. She pulled it from the air, watched it swim through her fingers as though it had life of it’s own. She bonded it together, spinning threads and fibers of muscles and organs out of pure magical energy. It glimmered and shifted into the form of her race; feathered wings stretching out beneath the incomplete creature for several feet. Long, avian-like limbs stretching from its calves and ending in sharp talons. He was male; this was something that Athana did not control, the energy simply chose the gender for her. But at the moment, he had no life. His organs stayed still beneath the transparent, iridescent flesh. She placed her fingers upon his chest and watched the heart begin to beat beneath the skin, the lungs and ribs expanding as he took in a breath. His eyes opening, glowing with a bright blue.

 

                The energy turned to flesh, and before her laid the nude creature who was created only moments before, though unlike that of a human child, he was fully formed. The glow left his eyes as the rest of the energy turned to skin, though they still held a beautiful blue.

“Your name is Castiel…welcome. You are special, Castiel. You will be the one to finally end this war…”

She stood, helping him to his feet as he shook on legs that were too new to support his weight, and he found he could barely stand. She smiled at him, and he watched as his mother fell to the ground, not dead but unconscious. Despite the fact that he had only been created moments earlier, the guilt of her demise seeped into his brain, and it was only the start of his troubles…

 

               

**ART**

**Athana** :

**Serana** :

**Before:**

**After:**

**Castiel:**

**First Form:**

** **

**Final form: (Eventually)**

 


	2. Hated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time writing Dean for some reason in this chapter, so I apologize for that.  
> P.S, art at the end.

Castiel’s creation was not the end of the war; in fact, it caused the down fall of the Ascha. With Athana now comatose, there was no one to replenish the ranks. She herself became a barrier, using what powers she had left in her to keep them shielded from the attacks of the Siatris, preventing them from reaching their realm. No one really knew why she only did it now, or how she was doing it, but they found she was the source of their barrier. It was only a matter of time before her power failed, and the barrier was broken.

 

                Athana’s sudden disappearance from the world of the conscious changed the Ascha. It was proof that they were not quite as peaceful as once thought. Perhaps it was Athana’s presence, and the fact that none of them really had any reason to dislike each other, but all of that had changed now. They were now without food, and they were starving. Athana had been the one to grant them with eternal harvest, and an endless supply of food, but none of the Ascha knew how to perform such magic. There was a dwindling source in parts of the land, but most of them found they had to travel to the realm of man, beneath their sacred city.

 

                In the past, man and Ascha had a sort of agreement; a peaceful coexistence. But they were no longer welcome as much, because the war between Ascha and Siatris had scarred their land when their battles happened to take place there. Because of their hunger, and the loss of their mother, the Ascha turned on the one who had caused it.

 

It was almost like birds who picked on the weakest off their bunch, and threw them out of the nest. Castiel was singled out and attacked constantly. He tried to avoid his siblings at all costs, but run-ins did occur. Because of such, he wasn’t even allowed in the main city. He was homeless, more or less. He lived in the woods and bathed in their streams, heading down to the human realm to partake of stolen harvest and small animals. Castiel didn’t eat a lot, but he never really lost weight. Most Ascha had some humans that they would buy food from, having mastered the art of alchemy and the ability to create gold from rocks, and most humans would accept this as currency. But Castiel was too weak to be able to use alchemy, and the Ascha had told the humans he was dangerous, and not to help him in any way.

 

He was lucky he’d found someone who didn’t hate him, early. A kind female by the name of Anna seemed to be a bit of a rebel, but she didn’t directly step on any toes; just did it behind their back. She helped Castiel; sometimes tried to give him gold so he could find food but it usually made no difference, because no human would accept his currency. She fashioned some clothes for him, in the fashion common for the Ascha, because he spent about two days being nude and outcast. She would bring him food on occasion, but that was all she could do for him. She could not sneak him into the city, as she would surely be exiled and it would help none of them, but she did help him in other ways.

 

Castiel had recently gotten into an altercation with a distant kin; a fight that left him with a deep gash from one of their claws on his hip, and a busted eyebrow. Anna had found him at the stream, trying to wash away the blood, and she took it upon herself to help cleanse his wounds. He lay stretched across her lap, his side exposed to her as she ran a cloth rag along it.

 

“You know there is no use…”

“Infections are nasty business, Castiel. There’s dirt and sweat in these wounds…”

She dipped the rag into the stream, squeezing it over the wound and watching the blood run down in thin streaks. “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing…” Castiel mumbled, pulling himself off her when he was satisfied with it’s disinfection. She immediately pulled him close, wiping the rinsed rag along his eyebrow. She was like a mother to him, cleaning the dirt out of the wounds as he fell. Only, he didn’t fall… he was pushed, over and over.

“How did this happen, then?”

“I was simply…existing. It was Nathanial. He told me he didn’t like my face…so he punched me in the eye. Then he did this…” Castiel said, gesturing towards the gash. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Anna…I may be young, but I know this is wrong. Yet there is nothing I can do about it. This is somehow my fault, and they know that, but I cannot change my _existence_. There is nothing I can do to right this wrong. There is nothing I can do to stop these…daily beatings, except to hide, but somehow they still find me.”

“Stay strong…There must be something you can do. Athana said you were special.”

“Athana is not here to tell _them_ that. Maybe I should live down below…”

“You know the humans won’t accept you; especially you.”

“I am so tired of this, Anna…” Castiel said, suddenly pulling himself from the ground. “I need to go. _You_ need to go. I will not drag you down with me…”

“Take care, Castiel…”

 

                It was his only home; the forest, or rather the jungle as he sometimes called it. Thick and tangled with trees and greenery. A place for him to hide, where the birds kept him company with their incessant song. Some days, he wanted to eat them…but the Ascha had an unspoken rule with those living on their plane. They would not kill, nor maim any of them. If only the Ascha respected that rule with him… He wandered the forest until his thirst got the better of him, and he found a stream flowing through a small clearing. Upon drinking his fill, staring into that stream, he had a sudden and powerful urge. He removed his collar, the cape that hung from his shoulders; unsnapped the top that kept him covered and let each of them fall. He gazed upon the reflection in the stream, eyes traveling along the numerous combat scars that were starting to heal on his upper half. He traced his fingers along the raised edges of the scars…and plunged the sharp edges of his claws into his neck.

 

\---

 

                Castiel stood at the edge of their lands; where their realm met the clouds of that of the human’s. A literal drop off from their land, like a cliff that suddenly just stopped. He spread his wings, taking flight and diving off the edge, momentarily blinded by the energy that separated them as it rippled and flashed in his eyes. Castiel was hungry, and he had gold in small pocket inside the hip of his skirt in hopes that someone just as hungry as he would, would take the gold. He took to the skies for the time being, heading into a nearby forest in hopes of finding something he could capture. He came in contact with a raptor; it could provide him with a sizeable meal. Much like the bird of prey itself, he descended upon it with claws extended, grasping it’s middle in his talons and booking it a tree that would hold his weight. With the creature struggling in his grasp, it’s body impaled and grasped in one clawed appendage, he reached down and twisted it’s neck until a pop sounded loudly about the forest.

 

                He said a small prayer for it, so that the soul of this poor creature would be at rest, before he started his meal. It was messy and he ended up with a good portion of himself covered in blood, forcing him to descend from the treetops and seek water. It took him some time to find it, but Castiel felt like something was off about the place. It almost felt dangerous, but there was nothing in sight. It was forest and plain, and there was absolutely nothing on the horizon. He must be losing it…

 

                Still, he made quick work of washing the blood from his face and hands, taking a drink from the stream afterwards to clear the copper from his mouth. Just as he was about to stand, he suddenly found his head slammed onto the ground. With clawed fingers digging into his scalp and a talon pressed against his back; had one of his siblings followed him? But this felt different… There were teeth on the point of his ear and hot breath on his skin and the beast spoke.

“What do we have here?” the voice spoke; deep, slightly rough…not one he recognized. “Let me get a look at you, pretty bird,”

 

He found himself flipped over, staring at something he definitely didn’t expect to find. A Siatris, with ebony clawed wings sprouting from his back that shimmered briefly in the spaces between the joints with a pinkish purple. His hands were holding firmly to his shoulders, while a leathery clawed lower limb was pressed against his belly. Castiel barely noted the orange and green feathers sprouting from his calves. He could see, in the distance, a spiked tail flipping behind him. He was gazing at him with eyes that were a dark green, beneath a head of hair that was short and cropped.

 

His clothing was much different from that of the Ascha; a leather, belted skirt hanging from his hips; leather bracers covering his hands, with dark sleeves reaching into metal pauldrons that extended to his elbow. An odd looking necklace hanging down between naked pectorals; an odd horned head, near a small, circular tattoo that peeked from beneath the metal on his shoulders. This was definitely the enemy, and he was alone and without help that wouldn’t even come if he called. Briefly he thought of just giving up, but fear kicked in and he tried to save himself.

 

                He pulled one of his own legs beneath him, kicking upwards and trying to disembowel the stranger with the largest talon, but he was too quick. He managed to grab his leg before he could get in more than a deep scratch, yanking it aside so that he would be able to get nowhere in the way of wounding him. Before he knew it he was on his stomach again, with the man on top of him. He felt his hand on the inside of his thigh, and breath hot in his neck.

“You’re different…you don’t smell like them. What are you?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Castiel snapped at him, which was probably something he should have avoided.

“C’mon now, why you gotta play hard to get? See, you could’ve just told me and this would have been a lot easier…” the stranger said, and Castiel saw him grabbing a sizeable rock from nearby. “Who am I kidding, this would never have been easy for you. Let’s see what makes you tick,”

There was suddenly a sharp, splitting pain in his head, that came again and again until blackness enveloped his vision; until there was nothing.

 

                Castiel awoke to the smell of blood and the sense of danger. He jerked sharply in an attempt to escape whatever danger he was in, but he was bound by his wrists and ankles. There was a cold metal on his back, and a pool of blood in front of him. Numerous torture devices littered the room that he couldn’t even comprehend because his head was still swimming and splitting with pain. He closed his eyes for just a second before he felt fingers on his jaw, and claws in his skin. His head being lifted by that same stranger again, and he squinted in the dull light as he looked up at him.

“Good, you’re awake,” he said, finally releasing his jaw, causing his head to lull to the side with an exhaustion he couldn’t quite comprehend. “And we’re gonna have a little fun. The boss wants to know what you are. You can make this easy on yourself, you know. Just tell me what I need to know. What _are_ you?”

“You _know_ what I am!” Castiel shouted, his voice cracking and hoarse as he raised his voice.

“Wrong answer,” he said, suddenly sending his knee into his abdomen, and it took his breath away. The pain blackened his vision momentarily, as he let out a rough groan. Normally, this wouldn’t bother him so much, but he was already tired and hurt, and it was so sudden. And in his weakness and pain he failed to realize for a good few seconds the presence of liquid running down his thighs and pooling in a straw-colored puddle between his legs. He heard the man give out a cruel laugh, stepping away from him briefly to look him over.

“Boy, you have _really_ fallen from grace, haven’t you? Sitting in that beautiful city of yours, acting all high and mighty and staring down at all of us like we’re _nothing._ All pampered and pretty, and yet now…here you are, down here in my dungeon and pissing yourself like a child.”

“To be fair, Dean…you did knee him _right_ in the bladder,” came a voice from the doorway. Castiel tried to register who it was; what they looked like. He caught a few good glimpses from behind the man who must be named Dean. A dark belted skirt, bracers, some semblance of a leather top… His wings and his legs were lighter scaled than Dean’s. A pale brown with some traces of red; he couldn’t really see.

 

“Sammy!” Dean shouted, playfulness and amusement in his tone, turning to face the other man. “Come say hi to our new playmate.”

“Why is he here, Dean?” Sam said, stepping closer to him. His hair was a lot longer than Dean’s; nearly shoulder length, with a pair of antler-like horns sprouting from his head. He hadn’t heard of any Siatris with horns, but he supposed it was possible.

 

                Sam gripped his jaw and turned his face towards him, with a gentleness he never expected from one of his kind. He seemed to be studying him, perhaps trying to find out the answer to the question he had just asked.

“Serana asked me to take him; find out what makes him tick. There’s something off about him. Don’t you smell it?”

“Yeah…Couldn’t she have given him to Abaddon, though? It’s getting kind of old not being able to sleep because you can’t keep your blade out of someone’s body. And that’s not a sex joke; I wish it was…Plus, it’s starting to smell in here.”

“Abaddon’s not the right girl for the job, Sam.” Dean said, leaving Castiel seemingly forgotten for the moment. “She’d tear him apart and we’d get nothing.”

Sam looked to Castiel with what he could only assume was pity, and shoved Dean out of the way far enough so that he was standing in front of him.

“Don’t be scared of me.” Sam said, reaching behind his neck and unfastening the collar and the cape, throwing them off to the side, next unsnapping the back of the shirt, joining it with the rest of his clothes.

“Be scared of him,” Sam said, gesturing towards Dean, who watched as Sam continued to undress him. He unfastened the skirt ,and the undergarments that were attached to them, and threw them elsewhere since they were both wet. “You don’t wanna wear these; trust me.”

 

                With him now naked in front of them, Castiel saw a brief glimpse behind the facade that Dean was putting up. It was shock and concern, and he stared at the numerous scars usually held by his clothing.

“You’ve seen battle…and you suck at it, apparently,” Dean stated.

“No,” Castiel responded hoarsely. “No battle, only abuse.”

Dean swallowed, looking away from him for a moment before returning to normal. “Serana gave us permission to kill you don’t tell us what we want. We’ll examine your corpse if we have to. Do you want to try this again?”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you…I am an Ascha. You know this!”

“Then you’re useless to us,” Dean said, and suddenly he felt claws in his throat. Digging deep into his flesh, before tearing away and ripping a sizeable chunk from his throat. The blood was hot on his skin, dripping down his chest and stomach and forcing its way from his mouth. He choked as it filled his lungs and spit up torrents of the crimson fluid. Yet, he had no fear…

 

                His vision went black for a moment, but when it returned the pain in his throat had diminished, and the wound was closed.

“You think I haven’t tried that before?” he choked out, “The wounds just close. I _can’t_ die, no matter how many times I’ve wished it.”

 

                Castiel thought back to the first time he tried. The day that he told Anna he wanted to give up; when he’d traveled to the stream and gazed upon the scars from the abuse he’d suffered from his own kin. The first time he sunk his claws into his own throat; tore out pieces of flesh, muscle, and small strips of fat. Remembered how the blood was almost burning against his fingers, and the way the vision became dark at the edges until there was nothing but blackness and he ceased to exist. But he awoke by the stream as though nothing had happened. His chest wet with the wounds that were gone as though they never existed at all. All other attempts, of any kind, were thwarted in the same way. He could not die; he could not drown, or starve, or bleed to death…

“And you didn’t think this was valuable information?”

“You never asked.”

“Guess we’ll just have to figure out what makes you tick with you awake, then. Fun...I’m gonna enjoy listening to you scream.”

 

_**Characters:** _

**Anna (supposed to be, anyway):**

 

**Dean:**

 

 

**Sam:**

 

[Cas tearing out his own throat, behind a link because it may be a sensitive subject](http://33.media.tumblr.com/58b448a26975d9f0605f79f85c081460/tumblr_neacflzNCs1r8y8hko1_1280.png)

 

_**Ascha realm** _

 

**Abandoned forest/meadow areas (where Castiel ends up most of the time)**

**The forest it's attached to (where Cas hides out)**

**Public garden near the main city**

 

**Main city/ Ascha housing area**

 

 

**A public bath house area. The water that comes to the Ascha houses are harder to heat, but the public bath houses are usually warm. It is an option but not a necessity.**

 

 

**Castiel's actual birth place; one of the higher points in the Ascha realm with large concentrations of magic**

 

 

_**Siatris Realm** _

 

**Serana's Throne Room**

 

 

**General look of some of the underworld's environments**

 

 

_**Dean's House** _

 

**Bedroom**

 

Sam and Dean more or less share a bedroom which doubles as a small living area with two alcoves in which they have their individual beds/dressers/etc

 

**Sam's side**

Generally neat and tidy

 

**Dean's side**

Not always neat and tidy. He keeps a dagger by his bedside. 

 

 

**Dining Area**

 

Adjacent to the kitchen.

 

 

**Kitchen**

 

 

**Torture chamber**

 

 

**Bathroom**

 


	3. Excision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning:  
> extreme torture   
> art below

              It started simple, enough. The cuttings; the bleedings…Castiel didn’t even know what they gained from this, but Dean seemed fairly pleased with it. He liked to cut him open and watch him heal before his eyes, but the more he cut him, the faster he seemed to heal. He was almost grateful for the times when they took him off the X shaped restraint device, because he could finally feel his limbs returning to normal for just that amount of time. Often he would be strapped in somewhere else though; mainly bent over and lashed with a whip. It hurt, but he could at least move. Castiel was used to pain like this, with all the fighting. He could take it…he could get through this, just until he found a way to escape.

 

                The nudity, though, and the cold…that never really ended. Truthfully, he should probably be grateful that he was naked because the only way he could use the bathroom was a bucket they’d placed strategically. Sometimes Sam would come in and clean him up, of various fluids and substances. Sam was nice, but there was still an evil about him. He would watch when Dean tortured, sometimes hold him down or help secure him, but never participate. There was something strange about Dean, too, though…There seemed to be a true darkness about him, like most of the Siatris. But he thought there might be something deeper than that. A goodness about him and a kindness that he didn’t want to show Castiel. He thought he saw it the day he was captured; the shock in his face when he saw those scars. The way he tried to cover it up with an insult…

 

                Did Dean truly enjoy hurting him? For now, it seemed, but maybe he could convince him to stop. But it wasn’t too bad for him, honestly. Did he enjoy being naked and cut into day after day? Not particularly. Did he enjoy being chained to a restraint device and shitting in a bucket? No, he couldn’t say he did. But the pain that was inflicted on him was nothing that he couldn’t handle. Wait…just wait. He needed to wait. But what would he go back to? Would the Ascha even care? Would they let him back into their home, now that he had been gone so long? He knew for sure that no one would come looking for him, not even Anna. It was too dangerous for her.

 

                Sam suddenly entered the room, breaking the thought process Castiel had going on in his mind. He looked worried, and he had what looked like a thick leather collar in his hand. It had what looked like metal studs on the side, but upon closer examination it seemed to be some sort of pale crystal. A pendant hunt from the center with the same pale crystal in the center. The crystals glistened and glowed slightly in the light; there seemed to be some kind of magic in it. Sam headed up to him, fastening the collar around his neck and then releasing him from the bonds. The moment he was released he found himself falling. Sam was able to catch him, helping him gently onto the floor.

                There was an unusual sense of calm in his mind; he should want to try and escape, but he didn’t.

“What are you doing…?”

“I’m going to let you out of your bonds for a while…That’s what the collar’s for. Keeps you docile. It took me forever to find one…”

“Why don’t you just make me wear this instead of chaining me up?”

“It’s not long term…I looked for one, but I couldn’t find any... I’m sorry.” Sam said, heading over to a table in the far corner. It was one that they usually bent him over when they needed him bent over for whatever reason. He worked with the straps on the edges, making sure they were unbuckled before calling him over. Normally, he would have said no, but the effects of the collar made him compliant. He found himself heading over to the table, even though he didn’t want to.

“Sit down,” Sam commanded, and he did. The Siatris knelt down beside the table, looking towards him. “You need to be prepared for today…It’s going to hurt, Cas…” Sam said with regret in his voice. They had recently taken to calling him ‘Cas’ after they’d learned his name.

“Does it not normally?”

“No. Not like this.”

“Can you tell me why you do this…? What gain are you getting from this? Why do you just watch?”

“I don’t like to hurt people, honestly…I will if I have to, but it’s not something I particularly enjoy. I watch because…that is the part I enjoy. I am more of a scholar than anything. I watch so that I can learn. Besides, it’s my job.”

“Your job?”

“Serana sends…prisoners, of a sort; many of them Ascha, to those who are good at torture. There’s a few in particular that they get sent to. Meg, she’s good at manipulation. She doesn’t torture physically, just mentally. She helps us to get information…She’s mean, but she’s not that mean. She wasn’t the right job for you because…you seemed not to know.

Abaddon…she is a loose cannon. Not many get sent to her because she mangles them into nothing. They are only sent to her if they are to be condemned to death and Serana has a personal vendetta with them. There’s a few others but they don’t really get sent here.

Then there’s Dean…and I. Dean enjoys torture, to a degree. He specializes in physical torture; pain, for information. But if we can’t get information by pain, he kills them. You, though…Well, if you didn’t answer us, we were supposed to kill you, and I would do an autopsy…but that didn’t happen. You’re a special case, Castiel…and we need to resort to other needs. When Dean hurts you, I report back to Serana with what I’ve learned.”

“What happens if I escape…? Do you really trust me with this information?”

“You won’t escape.” Sam assured him, and there was that Siatris cruelty. There was malice in that statement. Sam definitely wasn’t completely good.

“Tell me about Dean.”

“What about him?”

“Who is he to you?”

“Like most Siatris, we are related but…closer. I would say he is my brother. We were born from the same mother; not Serana, another woman. We were the only ones from her. She was killed before she had time to reproduce again. And…like most Siatris, we uh…you know,” Sam said, clearing his throat and trying to drop the subject.

“And you say he enjoys torture…to a degree?”

“He likes to hurt people, yes…It gives him this weird high. Sometimes a sexual high… Doesn’t so much enjoy killing as he does hurting but it’s just… _hurting_. Cutting ,burning, lashing…and then he kills them. That’s just what he does. That’s what he’s supposed to do…When we get what we need, they die. I don’t think he likes this as much, and I don’t think he likes what he has to do today.”

“And he has to?”

“Yeah, Serana…she’s interested in you and she…she wants things she’s never asked for before. She’s cruel, Cas. You’ve gotta understand that.”

“And what is it she’s asking for?”

“You sure ask a hell of a lot of questions for someone in this position. I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. I’m only telling you because I feel bad. She wants your-,”

“You wanna stop that?” Dean said, as he suddenly pushed through the door. Sam suddenly stood, nearly falling over as he tried to get up. “Stop what?”

“I know you were talking to him. Why else would he be sitting there?”

 

                Sam stepped aside as Dean made his way over to the table, and Dean was grabbing him by the collar and yanking him forward. Once he was standing, he pushed him hard onto the table. There was anger behind the way he moved; Dean wasn’t just sadistic, he was angry.

“Strap him in.” Dean commanded, and he was gone and gathering something from behind him. Sam strapped his wrists into the restraints, but he tried to do so as gently as possible. There was sadness in his expression as he did so, and Castiel could feel fear welling up within him. What were they going to do to him…? He felt fingers at the back of his neck as Sam undid the collar around his neck.

“Don’t look…close your eyes, and just keep breathing,” Sam whispered as he bent down close to his ear, seemingly without Dean’s knowledge. He took Sam’s advice; closed his eyes and took in a few calming breaths. He could get through this, whatever it was. He knew it wouldn’t’ kill him, and whatever he did it would probably heal. All the cuts, burns, and bruises that had been inflicted on him seemed to be kicking his body into some defense, making him heal faster.

 

                He felt a hand on the base of one of his wings, gripping near where they joined his back, but not completely. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest; waiting for whatever would come next. But when it came, he was not at all prepared. A sharp, cutting blow to the base of his wing. He took in a sharp, pained gasp that released in a choked scream. He jerked his wrists in an attempt to break free; to run, to hit him, anything. But the blows just kept coming, over and over and cutting deeply into his skin until it hit bone. When the bone wouldn’t give, Dean gripped either side of his wings and snapped it in half, breaking it with a loud crack. Sam had told him to keep breathing, but he couldn’t breathe. Each breath he tried to take in was forced out in a choked scream, and Castiel hadn’t ever cried from pain before, but he could feel the sting in his eyes and the dampness on his face.

 

                He felt something on his back; perhaps the taloned foot of his captor. Using the muscles of his legs to push down onto his back, and using both arms to pull at the wing. He heard the tendons snap damply, and heard and felt the flesh tear down his shoulder. He heard a dampened thud and looked to the side to see his wing lying on the ground, pieces of bloodied flesh hanging from the end and exposed muscle unraveled and torn apart. He prayed to his mother that the pain and the shock would knock him out, but adrenalin was shooting through his veins and he didn’t think he could sleep through this if he tried.

“Please stop…” Castiel breathed out, clutching the edges of the table and scraping his claws through the wood, splintering it and leaving deep scratches. “I have never begged in my life, but I am begging you to stop.”

 

                He let out a defeated sob as he felt hands on his other wing, and it received the other treatment. By the time Dean began snapping the wing bone, he was seeing darkness at the edges of his vision, and dizziness in his brain. Barely conscious, he could barely scream anymore, but he could still feel. When the wing was ripped from his spine again, he almost felt relief; that it was over. What else would he cut off? But he saw Dean removing the bangle on his bicep, setting it aside and holding his arm down. He gave out a worried whimper, watching with blurry vision as Dean brought the hatchet down on his bicep, above the elbow.

 

                He could only let out small whines and whimpers of pain as he watched the blade cut into his flesh over and over again, watching the muscle and adipose tissues becoming exposed with each deep cut. The squelching sounds of his flesh being cut became muffled as his ears were filled with mainly ringing. When it reached bone, Dean gripped his shoulder and the other end of his bicep, and he heard a muffled popping crack and Dean ripped the limb from the rest of his body. Pieces of muscle and tendons trailing until they snapped. He said nothing after this; picked up the severed limbs in a heap and left, but Castiel could hear through the ringing how hard the door slammed.

 

                He barely registered the collar being applied around his neck again, and the straps being undone around the wrist he had left. He felt Sam pull him from the table, and he was leaned against him as the Siatris ran his fingers through his hair, and then he was gone again.

 

\---

 

                This wasn’t the first time he had awoken with a choking gasp, struggling at first to get free but instantly calming when he saw Sam. The opposite of what he should do, but he felt the collar around his neck. He was wet; very wet. He was in a bath, and Sam was holding a cloth.

“You okay there?”

Castiel flexed his fingers, his wings…Both of his wings.

“Did I dream that…?”

“No, it really happened…But they came back.”

Castiel looked down at himself, at the water he was in. “Why am I here?”

“You were just…you need to be cleaned. You were covered in blood. You kinda just…voided _everything_. It was kinda gross…Took care of it though,” Sam said with a shrug.

Castiel let out a sigh, sinking down into the bath, putting a hand over his face as he felt a sudden sob wrack his body. Everything that had happened suddenly came crashing down on him again.

“Hey, come on now…”

“I can’t do that again…I thought I could do this…that I could handle this. It wasn’t that bad. Everything I’ve known since birth is pain…abuse, guilt. But that…I can’t, Sam. I’d ask you to kill me right now if I could die.”

“I would do anything to fix this…but I can’t, Cas. I mean, I can’t let you go anymore. You know too much. Not even with what I said; the minute you got here, you weren’t going to be able to leave. We just have to hope Serana will get bored with you. And Dean…I know he’s a hard ass and I know he’s cutting off limbs but I can tell he hates this.”

“He was angry earlier…”

“Yes. Because he had to do this. Just be glad she’s not transferring you to Abaddon. I think she hopes we’ll be able to tell her something, but I have no idea what it is.”

“Why did this happen? Why did she want this?”

“I don’t know…She came to Dean, asked him to take your wings, some of your limbs…said she wanted them. I don’t know why. It might be because she’s a sadistic cunt but I can’t tell. Mother of my mother and all, but I don’t care for Serana. Not all of us do…”

“If she’s taken my limbs, what is she going to want next?”

“I can’t say for certain. But Dean has agreed to leave you alone for a while. I don’t think he even wants to bother with you anymore. It’s not fun for him anymore, just cruel. We’ll have to chain you up until I can find a permanent collar. This one is already starting to go dead…Come on,” Sam said, standing and extending his hand to him.

 

                Castiel fluffed his feathers on is new wings, finding them easier to deal with than he’d expected. Sam lead him back into the room, fastening him back to the X-shaped device, pulling the collar off moments later.

“I can’t fix this…but I can at least try to make it a little better. You’ll get your collar, I promise.”

 

 

ART:

 

Castiel's temp collar

 


	4. Extraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More gore/torture

              Castiel had a good few days when he was more or less ignored. Sam brought him a permanent collar; a leather strap with pale blue crystal rings acting as metal, holding the pieces together with a clasp in the back. It had nearly the same pendant hanging from one of the center rings, although it was a darker metal and the crystal in the center was blue, instead of white. Castiel really didn’t like the idea of being stuck on a collar that made him docile, but the collar let him out of the bonds. They fed him and gave him water, and allowed him to clean himself, but they ignored him for the most part.

 

                On a day unlike any of the other past few days, there was a sudden disturbance beyond his door. He could hear talking, and it was angry. He crept up to the barrier between him and the rest of the house, trying to hear the argument beyond. He was grateful for his good hearing…

“I’m so damn sick of this, Sam…” Dean said, a bit muffled with the barrier between the two. “I mean, you know I like this shit but not… _this_ shit. When she sends them to us I’m supposed to rough them up a little bit and then we kill them. It hurts, and then they’re dead. But he’s _not_ dead, and from the way this is going he’s never going to be. He’s gonna live with this shit for the rest of his life; the memory of this pain. And this is ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to take off his damn limbs, or …the shit she wants me to do today. What the hell does she want with this shit? This isn’t fun anymore. It’s just…meaningless cruelty.”

“I don’t know…I don’t like it either. I hope she gets bored soon. You know she will…”

“He’s not like the rest of them. We can probably hurt him for the rest of his life, which is probably…eternity. She says the only reason she hasn’t sent him to Abaddon yet is because she’d have nothing left to collect and she has no interest in bloody pieces of things she can’t even identify anymore. And it’s shit we gotta keep him awake for this. I hope you’re good at describing, Sam, because I ain’t gonna be any help.”

“I got this,” Sam said, and Castiel heard a heavy sigh come from the taller brother. He heard the door handle begin to turn and his reaction was to quickly back up, anywhere. He sat on one of the tables to look inconspicuous.

 

“Big day, Cassy,” Dean said, trying to sound as though he wasn’t bothered, but the conversation beforehand told him this was all a front. “Make this easy for me and lay down on that table you’re sitting on. I don’t want to deal with any shit today.”

 

                He did, but he wasn’t sure if it was purely from fear, or the collar still wrapped around his neck. Sam headed over as Dean pushed the instrument table closer. He strapped the straps around his wrists and ankles again, and before Castiel had the chance to ask, he explained. “The collar gets overridden by too much adrenalin; usually from pain. It’s a safety precaution.”

“What do you have to do today?” Castiel asked nervously, not sure he wanted to know the answer. Dean didn’t answer, nor did Sam. Sam just looked full of pity, and Dean only looked angry. He pulled a fairly sharp looking knife from the table, turning to him and staring him down for a moment before he finally decided to go to work. The blade pressed to the center of his torso, in the area where the ribs parted, pushing down into the skin until the blood started to bubble to the surface. It wasn’t unlike what he was already used to, but Dean didn’t stop this time; he just kept cutting, dragging the knife into his skin until it got deeper and deeper. He couldn’t help but let out a whimpering groan of pain the deeper he went.

 

                He cut to the inner membrane, slicing through the fascia like it was butter, before pulling the skin apart. He took nail-like objects and stuck them into his body, to keep the skin pulled open and everything inside exposed. He could see the white of his ribs and the heaving of his lungs clearly now, and he was already starting to feel sick and dizzy. Blood was pouring from the wound, dripping down the sides of the table. When he felt Dean’s hand enter that cavern; groping at an organ low in his abdomen, he cried out loudly, barely able to catch his breath from the screams. He watched as he pulled a thick rope of organ from that cavern, unraveling his intestines like a ball of yarn and pulling them from his body like it was nothing.

“Please,” he breathed, claws raking at the table again as he struggled. “You don’t have to do this; I know you don’t want to do this, Dean. I can see it in you, you can stop. You can stop…” he sobbed, not even sure how he was able to speak at the moment. Dean yanked at the organ fairly hard, with what seemed like anger.

“Don’t you get that I _have_ to do this? If I don’t keep you awake; if she doesn’t get to hear every gory, disgusting detail…” Dean said, starting to lose his cool. “Fuck this…fuck her. I’ll give her what she wants…” Dean said, grabbing some hammer like object from the table, before striking him hard in the head with it and knocking him unconscious.

 

\---

 

                Waking refreshed was not what happened; not this time. Castiel awoke bloodied and on the floor of the torture room, but he was still in pain. His insides hurt; radiated with agony and he couldn’t help but curl into a ball and try to press his hands into any spot he could get to. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he assumed it was Sam, looking up and expecting to see his face, but instead he saw Dean. Even though the collar was around his neck he still tried to run. Backing away like a frightened animal, only ending up in a corner; or rather against a table.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you…” he grumbled, sounding a little unsure of himself. “Not yet; not right now.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you aren’t dead. Kind of hoped you were, to be honest.”

Castiel tried to respond, but the pain flared up within his body and he couldn’t help but replace it with a pained whimper. “What did you do to me? Why does it hurt so bad?”

“You might be missing some organs…They’re probably all growing back, though. Maybe it’s because it’s inside. Serana made us take all of them. Your heart came back immediately…She wanted to keep you awake so she could hear the stories but…”

“But?”

“I told her you passed out before we even got the intestines out. I didn’t mean for this to happen, Cas…I mean, really. You were supposed to die. You were supposed to die like the rest of them and it wasn’t supposed to be this…difficult. I should’ve never brought you here in the first place, but I didn’t know…”

“I cannot truly forgive you for your cruelty, or this forced imprisonment…but I can at least tell you that perhaps…not _all_ of this was your fault.”

 

                Castiel suddenly felt a sharp, gripping pain in his abdomen; like an unrelenting hand, squeezing his insides and refusing to let go. He whimpered a cry, curling into himself and clutching the area before a hot, burning sensation filled his throat and he found himself vomiting. It was slick and burning, a mixture of bile and blood and he didn’t quite have the time to move so it sprayed projectile across the floor and dripped own the side of his face and into his hair. He rose himself for long enough to finish before shifting away and laying back down in a crumpled heap. He had no way of cleaning himself off anyway. He had the forethought to sit up this time when it happened again, hunched over and shaking with pain and exhaustion.

 

                Dean suddenly left, and he thought that was the last he’d see of him being any sort of humane, but he did return. He was carrying a bucket, a large pitcher of water, and a rag. He was carrying them quite haphazardly but he managed to shoo him off further into the room; the side that wasn’t covered in random vomit puddles. He sat beside him, wetting the rag and running it along his face where it was marred with the slick fluid.

“I can do that myself…”

“Just shut up and let me do it,” Dean said, a little irritated it sounded like. When he was sufficiently cleaned, at least of vomit, Castiel found he could no longer sit up. He tried to ease himself back onto the ground, not wanting to be upright. He was too tired to; it seemed like all his organs were failing to work correctly at the moment and it was giving him serious issues.

 

                Dean stood again, but not to leave; rather to switch sides. He sat down near where Castiel’s head lay, and gripped him under the arms, pulling him onto his lap. He set a bucket in front of his legs, in case he would get sick again.

“Why?” was all that Castiel really asked.

“Because you were just lying on the floor. Now you’re not.”

Castiel was halfway amused by this, although he shouldn’t be. It wasn’t enough to get him to laugh, or to even smile, but it was something. Dean was trying to be nice, but at the same time he was trying everything not to be nice while _being_ nice. When he had settled enough, though still wracked by internal pain, Dean wet the rag again and ran it along those areas that were covered in blood, getting himself a little wet in the process.

 

                He stayed with him until Castiel recovered; until the agony was just a lingering ache, and the vomiting had finally stopped. He gathered up everything he’d come in with and left, and Castiel truly thought this was the last he was going to see of him tonight. He returned for only a moment, to throw him around four blankets and a pillow without saying a word, before gently closing the door behind him.


	5. Corruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Art at the end
> 
> There is NSFW Sastiel and Wincestiel in this chapter.  
> Be warned.

The heat was stifling the day that the two brothers made their next visit to Serana. The underworld did have its share of strange weather, though it was rather unlike that of the world above. When it rained, it was not always signaled by cold, but rather heat, because when it rained, it rained fire, or other dangerous things. It was one of the reasons Dean was so irritated by Serana calling the two of them to her abode. A guard of hers led her through her home, buried within the face of some great mountain, before they got to her throne room. It jutted out into the open, away from the mountain with open doorways. Dean could see swirlings of dark fire shifting in the sky, like a rain cloud ready to spill it’s contents. She’d better make this quick, or at least let them wait out the storm.

 

                Serana sat upon her throne as she usually did, smiling at them almost cruelly.

“I’m assuming you think I’ve called you here to request more organs…but I am relieving you of your duty, for now…perhaps, anyway. I no longer require, or rather, desire having these things delivered to me. Quite honestly, I just wanted to know how they taste. The pain and the fear really flavors the meat…Anyway, despite the fact that I’ve grown bored with him, he still poses a threat.”

“How does he pose a threat? He’s locked in our house.” Dean said, raising his voice a little higher than need be.

“Yes, for now. But he is an Ascha; they can be cunning when they need to. There is no telling when he might decide to snap and escape, fleeing back to his own realm and telling them all of our secrets.”

“But he’s got-,” Dean stopped himself, as he suddenly felt his brother’s claws rake down his hip; a warning to stop there. “He’s gotten sick, lately...from all the torture. I don’t’ think he has the energy to leave,” Dear God, that was the shittiest and worst put together lie, and he could see it in the way Serana raised her brow at him in confusion that she had caught it. She shrugged, and let it go though.

“There’s no reason why he might not recover, either. So, here are my suggestions; feel free to choose any of them. I encase him in acid for eternity, so he will know no other feeling than pain for the rest of his life, and he will not be able to regenerate enough to escape. I give him to Abaddon and let her have her way with him…You keep him, bring me pieces of him daily until he’s experienced so much pain he ceases to function, _or_ , and this is a big maybe…corrupt him. Get him to forsake the Ascha.”

“The last one,” Dean said suddenly, before Sam had the chance to answer. “We’ll do the last one.”

“You really think you have what it takes to corrupt the enemy? What’s happened to my most loyal torturer?”

“It’s just…boring,” Dean said, feeling like she could see straight through him. “You know, the same guy over and over?”

“Or have you gone soft for your little prisoner?” she goaded, smirking at him.

“Of course not. Look, I’ll get the job done, okay?”

“And if you don’t?”

“You can do whatever you want with him.”

“Let’s raise the stakes a little. I’ll take him…and your head, if you fail. Deal?”

“..Yeah. Deal. I can do it,” Dean said, sounding very short with her.

“Very well. Take your leave.”

 

                The both of them headed out, and when they were away from prying ears they thought it was safe to talk. About half way to their house, small embers began to drift from the sky, causing annoying singing on their skin but nothing too serious.

“Can’t believe you almost told her about the collar, Dean. You know those things are illegal. I had to go so deep into the market to find one…What is wrong with you?”

“It was just a slip up, Sam. Forget about it,” he said, again short with the person he spoke to.

“You just gave up your life for the dude you’ve been beating up for weeks…”

“You heard what she’s gonna do to him if we don’t, Sam. I don’t wanna live with that shit on my conscience.”

“You have a conscience…?”

“Sometimes!” he snapped, sounding exasperated. “I’m just sick of doing this…I’ve explained this to you before.”

“Yeah, I get it… But how are we supposed to go about corrupting him? He’s not exactly happy with either of us; I don’t think he’d be willing to just forsake his home and leave.”

“He talked about being abused up there…didn’t he? Maybe we can get him to open up about that…”

“But what’s going to make him trust us? You’ve been torturing him for weeks.”

“Get him to trust us…somehow, and give him something good that only the Siatris have.”

“Which is?

“I don’t know…We’re pretty much all torture and killing.”

“We have sex…They don’t.”

“You think just fucking him will work?”

“Well, why not?”

“Guess it’s worth a shot…”

 

\---

 

                Castiel had been alone for a day or two; alone to his thoughts, which were clouded and altered by the collar, he noticed, though he didn’t really have the drive to remove it. He was angry; that was one thing. Angry that he was stuck here; angry about the torture, and yet…he wasn’t sure if it was the collar, or his own true thoughts, but it almost seemed that these two men had more compassion than most of his actual brethren. Dean did torture him, yes; and he hated him for that, or he should, but he realized he felt remorse. That this was something he _had_ to do, not _wanted_ to do. Not anymore, anyway. He could not bring himself to fully hate Dean to the core, because he knew it was something he was being forced to do.

 

                But his own kin; they hurt him without remorse. It was only Anna that showed him any kindness, but he still lived alone and in the wilderness, scared, cold and abandoned by his own society. But here, he could be warm. He was naked, but he had the option of sleeping in something of a bed. The mass of blankets beneath him were softer than the ground on which he’d been forced to sleep, and the blanket he used to cover himself certainly kept him warm. He had never known things like this; the feel of a pillow beneath his head, or the soft cloth of a blanket to keep him warm. The feel of having a roof over his head, even though it smelled like blood and other foul secretions. He was safe from the elements, there was at least that…but he couldn’t say he was really happy. He hoped that perhaps the two brothers would take pity on him at least, and Serana would become bored. But would he be stuck here forever? Until this senseless war ended…? And he vaguely remembered the first words ever spoken to him, when their mother still thrived; that it was he who would eventually end this, but he couldn’t see how.

 

                His thoughts were suddenly interrupted, when Sam pushed into the room, and he was startled. He sat up in his makeshift bed, for some reason feeling the need to be modest and pulling the blankets around him.

“We have a surprise for you…Don’t’ worry, it isn’t going to hurt. It shouldn’t, anyway. Come with me,” Sam said, holding his hand out to him as he stepped closer. He grabbed hold of his wrist, as Sam grabbed his, and helped pull him off the ground.

“You want a bath, right?”

“It would be nice…”

“Good, because that’s where we’re headed.”

 

                When they arrived at the bathroom, he watched as Sam toyed with the faucet on the side of the bath. It seemed there was more to it than met the eye. A quick turn of the knob on the back created the sound of what Castiel thought seemed like a wildfire, and there was a sudden heat beneath them until it subsided, and the sound turned to nothing more than a dull crackling. It subsided when he turned the knob the opposite way, and when he pushed down on the faucet a torrent of water began to spill forth, steaming with warmth. When the bath was filled he pushed down on the faucet again, and turned a knob on the side, which made the warmth return to the room in small increments.

 

He retrieved a basket from a small closet with a rag and some sort of crude soap bars, setting it on the odd jutting shelf that sat above the bath.

 

“Have fun. I’ll be back in a bit,”

The moment Sam left, Castiel stood and grabbed the basket, putting it near him. When everything was lathered and wet, he bathed like there was no tomorrow. He hadn’t had a good bath since the time Sam brought him and bathed him in his sleep. He bathed to the point where some of his skin was starting to get raw, and he found this the best time to stop. By the time he was finished, he was practically pristine. Almost pure, like the moment he was born. By the time Sam entered, Castiel couldn’t imagine that he was about to change that rather dramatically.

 

                He noticed that Sam wasn’t wearing what he usually did. He had shed everything but his bracers and some kind of strapped leather undergarments. He crouched in front of him, looking him over for a moment before he spoke.

“Dean asked me to do something…You’re an Ascha, right? You’ve never been intimate?”

“I’m not sure what you mean by intimate…”

“You do know what sex is, right?”

“Vaguely…the act of procreation is what I understand, but it’s not required up there…Which I don’t entirely understand. You’ve stated that you and Dean try to…procreate? It doesn’t seem possible.”

The statement made Sam laugh rather suddenly. “So…you don’t even know what kissing is, do you?”

“To be honest…hardly.”

“Let me show you something…” Sam said, scooting forward and gripping his jaw. The first instinct was to pull away, but he stayed. His lips were suddenly pressed against his, and they moved against him gingerly in an attempt to get him to participate. Luckily, he was a quick learner; he got the hang of it fairly quickly.

 

                It was awkward at first, but eventually he found himself liking it, and not entirely wanting to separate. Every time Sam worked his lips against his, he felt a jolt of warmth tingling and trailing down to his belly. It was slightly alarming, until Sam pulled away. Unintentionally, he let out a short, low whine at the loss of his lips, silently begging for that contact again. Sam let out a short laugh, suddenly nipping with the sharp, long points of his canines against his jaw and then his neck. It felt nice, too, and elicited the same response. His hands were suddenly trailing to his hips, slipping beneath his legs and touching him in places only he had touched. He let out a sudden, shaking gasp, his hips shifting beneath his hand, and he wasn’t sure if he liked this.

 

                It shot sparks of pleasure through his body and through the area. Not like pleasure he’d felt before, but it was the only way he could describe it. It was satisfying; he craved it, like an itch needed to be scratch or a belly needed fed. Like the minute you sunk into a hot bath and let all your muscles relax…but this was different. An almost insanely good feeling that almost made him feel vulnerable. The way Sam worked his fingers on his cock was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and he wanted more, but…It was almost making him dizzy, and sick. It was overwhelming, and he felt scared. Sam worked his thumb along the bottom and he felt his breath get caught in his throat, and a wounded sounding groan escaped from his vocal chords before he could stop himself.

“Sam, wait…” he said suddenly, jerking away from the attention on his neck. Sam did stop, but he suddenly felt a feeling of loss and need; he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted.

“I do not know if I am comfortable with this…I’m not sure if I like it or not. It makes me feel…vulnerable. I know pain…and hunger, rage…but I don’t know this.”

“Well…your _body_ certainly enjoys it…Now, I’m going to respect your right to refuse…but let me explain something to you first,” Sam said, his hand not yet moved from where it was. “I want you to look down…”

 

                Castiel did as he was told, swallowing a little heavily as he did. He took in a breath, “Okay…”

He noticed quite the change, there. His cock was thicker, longer, and he noticed now quite rigid. This wasn’t normal…at least, not usually. But Sam was about to explain things.

“That means you’re …er, _excited._ It means even though you’re not sure about this, your body definitely is. So, before you tell me to stop, keep in mind, this is not going to go away for a good while, unless _you_ do something about it, and I don’t think you know how. Because you’re going to have to do the same thing I’m doing.

But…if you let me continue on with this, as planned…I guarantee you it will feel good. Then you’re going to get to the big finale and you’re gonna be so content with yourself you might feel like you can sleep for a week and just not care. So…let me ask you,” Sam said, suddenly pressing his thumb against the underside of his cock and pushing upwards.

 

                He shuddered slightly, voice getting caught in his throat again and he could only open his mouth and cry out silently until it squeaked out in what was barely a moan, because his throat was too busy constricting around itself. He ran his hand upward again, and he breathed out a pleased sigh, then he stopped.

“Do you want this to stop? Do you want to just forget about _this?”_ Sam said, repeating the action. A hum of a noise slip passed his lips as he shut his eyes, lips pursed briefly before he took in a breath.

“No, I…I don’t know.”

“You want me to stop?”

“…No,” he finally decided, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Well…I’m going to have to for a second because this wasn’t the plan…” Sam said, pulling a sort of lever at the front of the bath that began draining it. “I’m going to take you back to my room and we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

 

                Sam handed him a towel, and he dried off the best he could with the way his hands were suddenly shaking. He suddenly felt very exposed, with this new development with his body, and once he was dried he held the towel in front of himself. Sam raised a brow at him, but didn’t question it. Before they left, he turned a knob near the faucet that he’d turned previously, and the room suddenly became a bit colder.

 

                Sam grabbed him by the wrist, leading him further into the house and taking him into what looked like a shared bedroom. There was a jolt of fear that mixed in with the arousal when he saw Dean there. Though he couldn’t quite anticipate just what Dean was wearing under his clothes… He still wore the necklace around his neck, and the bracers and sleeves along his arms. He wasn’t sure why they kept them on just yet when they disrobed. But what undergarments Dean did have were sparse. There was a leather material, almost resembling the skin on his wings, shaped so that it came up to near his navel and tapered down between his legs. That was nearly it. The only thing holding it on was a leather strap wound around one hip. He must have been a master at covering himself because he couldn’t really see anything…

 

                Dean neared him, and he couldn’t help but back up in fear, though he collided with Sam who was suddenly behind him. The taller man slid his hand down Castiel’s hip, gripping the edge of the towel so that he could slide it to the floor.

“He’s not going to hurt you. He knows what he’s doing…” Sam said, nearing his ear as he spoke softly. Dean stepped up to him, hand trailing on Castiel’s hip as he sunk to his knees. His claws scraping gingerly against his skin as his tongue darted out and dragging along the underside of his cock. He choked out a sudden moan, tilting his head against Sam’s shoulder. It was a much different feeling, but it was nice.

 

                Sam brought his other hand to Castiel’s chest, lightly dragging his claws down the left pectoral and scraping feather light against his nipple. It felt sort of nice, but it was nothing like what was coming from below. Dean suddenly pulled his cock into his mouth, his tongue dragging and lapping along the underside as he pulled it into the heated cavern. It took his breath away, a small strained groan the only evidence of how it made him feel. His head was swimming though, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his hips pushed forward on their own accord. After only a few more moments of this he was feeling weak in the knees and in danger of collapsing. Dean seemed to realize this and pulled away.

“We should move,” he said, addressing Sam as he stood.

 

                Sam lead him over to the nearest bed, and he found himself lying horizontally on the bed, instead of vertically. Sam sat beside him, his hand on his thigh while Dean suddenly knelt between his legs on the floor. He felt his lips on his thighs, kissing and nipping at the skin with a gingerness he had never seen from him. It was almost pain, but not quite enough to hurt; enough to feel good, the way his teeth scraped on the flesh. As he did, Sam slipped his hand up his thigh and onto his cock. He worked his thumb beneath the head and it sent a sudden spark racing up his spine. He breathed out the most wounded sounding noise, and he was surprised at these noises that were vibrating from his vocal chords. He had never sounded like this before, and it was kind of embarrassing. He felt like he was very much losing control, but he didn’t want it to stop.

 

                Sam worked up a rhythm as Dean’s movements began to change, kissing further between his legs until he felt his tongue dragging along an area that he never imagined would feel good, but it did. He gave out a whining gasp, his hips jerking upwards and towards Dean’s tongue as he dragged it across his lower entrance. He was certainly overwhelmed, but he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t like it.

 

                They both continued to work on him for some time, and he felt as though he was working towards something. A desperation to achieve something and the need to feel more. He spread his legs slightly, draping one leg against Dean’s back as he reached between his legs and he was suddenly gripping Dean’s hair. Pushing his head forward, grinding his hips against his tongue and into Sam’s hand. He was breathless, panting and whining with pleasure and it was a little upsetting that he couldn’t control the sounds he was making. He was a wreck; coming apart on the bed, and so completely lost. One hand fisting the sheet, while the other gripped Dean’s hair because he felt like he was about to break. But it was a break he wanted.

 

                Suddenly he was trembling, his thighs shaking around Dean’s head and his stomach tight enough to implode, and then he broke. He felt like he had left for a moment; pleasure flooding his body and light behind his eyes. His mind gone; a euphoria too strong to let him function properly. Suddenly, he felt a hand on the side of his face, running through his hair, and it all came back to him. He looked over, blearily, to find Sam looking a little amused.

“You okay? We thought we lost you.”

Castiel merely nodded, and he realized there was a cooling dampness on his stomach. A slick, pearlescent fluid pooled on his belly and he was too tired to even question it.

“You can have him.” Sam said, addressing Dean who was now on the opposite side of him. “Be gentle, alright?”

“I ain’t gonna hurt him…” Dean said, and Castiel wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about. He was tired; sort of out of it, but there was a sense of calm washing over his body and he just didn’t feel like questioning it at the moment.

 

                When Sam left, Dean placed his hand on Castiel’s wrist.

“The thing about sex…is that it’s generally a good idea to return the favor, Cas. Do you want to return the favor? You don’t even have to move; just turn over…”

Castiel merely nodded, rolling onto his front with shaking limbs. He closed his eyes, merely because he felt tired, and he waited for whatever Dean was going to do. He heard a sort of clinking noise beside him; perhaps the sound of the buckle being undone. He jerked slightly when Dean was suddenly above him; seemingly kneeling, and his hands gripped hold of the base of his wings. He remembered the last time Dean had grabbed his wings…

 

                He squeezed them together at the base, and it sent a sudden, dull spark up his spine. His fingers buried in his feathers as he suddenly felt a rigid heat between the limbs. Then he moved, thrusting what Castiel assumed was his cock through his feathers and it felt…nice. The presence of that protrusion moving along his feathers and skin, the way Dean dug beneath the down and scraped against the underlying skin. He found his eyes closing again and a soft, low moan escaping from his lips, his back arching a little with each movement.

“You like that?” Dean said, sounding a little winded.

“Mhmm,” Castiel whined out, rolling his hips against the bed. He didn’t know how, but he was getting worked up again. He found it pleasurable for him to grind his hips against the bed.

 

                Dean ran his fingers through his feathers again, a little rougher than he might have intended but it still felt nice. His claws scraped through the skin, his fingers pushing down a little further than where his wings connected to his back, and there was a sudden sticky wetness spilling down his back as he let out a sudden, shaking moan. Generally, he stimulated his oil glands just enough to keep his wings in shape, but the sudden pressure, harder than he’d ever attempted, was actually quite pleasurable, despite messy. He was learning now there was an array of pleasant nerve endings through these upper appendages.

 

                Dean stayed pressed down on them, making things fairly slick but the pleasure was very nice. With the pleasure being applied from his wings, the way Dean stimulated the base of the appendages, and rutting along the blanket, he found himself reaching that moment again. The sudden tightening of his muscles, and then that rush of pleasure. He could feel a damp wetness spurting along his belly; hot and thicker than the average liquid. It seemed to be a common thing during sex. The final moment that had him flooded with euphoria.

 

                He felt a sudden damp heat hitting him in the back; and he realized this wasn’t his wing oil. He was sated, double this time. Tired and feeling like he just wanted to sleep, then and there. Dean was suddenly climbing off of him, reaching his hand beneath him, between his legs and pulling away with the same damp, pearlescent fluid.

“You are not supposed to do that twice in a row…but it is interesting.”

Castiel mumbled something; he wasn’t even sure what it is. A noise of understanding, perhaps, but it was the last thing he uttered before he was dead asleep. Nothing could wake him from this sated slumber.

 

\---

 

                It was deep in his slumber that he actually dreamed. They were rare in his life. His sleep usually too disturbed by outside sources for him fully fall into long REM sleep. Discomfort, usually. But one of the first dreams he’d had in a while was a nightmare. It was unclear, mostly. The sensation of falling, and clutching onto something with desperation so that he didn’t fall into an endless abyss. It was fuzzy and confusing but he felt fear. And then the sudden presence of a pained scream, and the feeling of being pushed. Suddenly he was awake, jerked out of sleep like he had fallen from that dream and into reality.

 

                He realized he was in another bed now, in a further corner of the room. Clean, tangled in the blankets with Dean beside him. He was clutching at his wrist, looking a little out of it. Breathing heavy, clearly in pain. He suddenly undid one of his bracers, pulling it off with shaking fingers and pulling back the sleeve that lay hidden beneath it. He hissed in pain, and it took Castiel a second to find out why.

 

                Upon his forearm was a very infected looking wound. A mass of veins; some of them black, spread from a bleeding wound in the center. A thin, inflamed layer of skin stretched over something that lay imbedded in his skin. A shimmering, large, black gem that seemed to pulse as though it were alive. Dean grabbed at the blackness beneath that rotten layer of skin, pulling upward and letting out a pained groan as he panted, and then let his hand fall to the bed. He looked to Castiel, and seemed surprised that he was awake.

“You did a number on me…” he grumbled, taking in a few deep, calming breath before pulling the sleeve over his arm and buckling the bracer back into its original place.

“How…?”

“You squeezed the shit out of me in your sleep. Do _not_ use that against me,” he warned. “I will make things impossibly difficult for you.”

Castiel nodded, a bit fearfully, and Dean responded with a sigh.

“I’m going to let you know something I probably shouldn’t. These are on both of our arms; all four of them. I’m trusting you with the knowledge you’re not gonna use this against us…and I’m going to tell you now; out there, you’re not going to survive. So any attempt of escape is going to land you in more shit than you know.”

                Castiel realized now he had a weapon against the two of these boys; those gems imbedded into their arms. Dean hadn’t given him too much information, but he realized it hurt to grab them there. But at the moment, Castiel felt no desire to do so. He was still tired, his mind fogged by the collar as well. It was a little strange, he had to admit, to have Dean speak to him as almost an equal. Letting him know some of his most painful secrets, even though it could be used against him. But perhaps Dean was right; leaving this house may be the biggest mistake he’d ever make. For now, he needed to just stay put.

 

 

 

 

_**Concept Porn:** _

 

 

 

_**Dean's freaky arm thing** _

 

_**** _


End file.
